


The Last of His Kind

by MiladyDragon



Series: Dragon-Verse: Pre-Series Stories [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragon-Verse, M/M, Pre-Canon, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alex Hopkins murders the Torchwood Three Team and then kills himself, Jack Harkness gets a Tarot reading that sends him to a tiny Welsh village, where he meets a creature of legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in the Dragon-Verse, and tells how Jack Harkness met the dragon, Ianto Jones. This begins the re-telling of Jack Harkness' tenure as leader of the Torchwood Institute and the story of his relationship with the dragon known as Ianto Jones.

**_5 January 2000  
  
  
  
_ **

It had all gone to hell.

Jack Harkness sat at the bar in the dimly lit pub, downing bourbon after bourbon in a futile effort to completely forget what had happened.  It didn’t help; not only didn’t he stay drunk very long, but the image of Alex putting that gun to his head would be something that would live in Jack’s nightmares for a long time to come – _when_ he slept, of course.   The clean-up had taken two days, and that was hampered by Yvonne Hartman’s constant calling.  She firmly believed that Jack himself had had something to do with it, even with the CCTV footage as evidence and Alex’s own suicide note he’d sent via email, and she flatly refused to recognize Jack’s claim on the leadership of the now decimated Torchwood Three.

Not that Jack cared, really.

He’d never wanted to be leader.  He was an uncontracted operative, and that suited him very well.  He didn’t want to be tied down; he wanted to be free to leave when the Doctor finally showed up in an incarnation he could interact with.  Being the leader of Torchwood Three wasn’t in that plan. 

So, he wasn’t at all disappointed that Yvonne was sending her own team down from London to take over.  He might not approve of Torchwood One’s methods, but it was a choice between fighting for what Alex had wanted – and what Jack didn’t – or letting Yvonne’s puppets take over and leaving him free to leave when the time came.

No contest.

Jack knocked back another bourbon, motioning to the barman for another.  The man knew Jack, and knew Jack’s inhuman tolerance for alcohol, and silently served him even though Jack had, at that point, drunk enough to float the proverbial battleship.  Up until three days ago Jack hadn’t drunk more than water and coffee for about one hundred years.

He was making up for lost time.

“Hello, Captain.”

He turned to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but the words died in his throat as he saw who’d called his name.




It was _her_.

The first time he’d seen her it had been back when Torchwood first approached him.  She’d been the one to give him the news that the Doctor wouldn’t be returning for at least one hundred years.  She hadn’t changed at all in the intervening years, and to be honest she disturbed Jack in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe. 

“What do you want?” he muttered, gulping down his bourbon and calling for another one.

The barman got one look at the little girl standing there, and promptly forgot that Jack existed.

The captain cursed, sliding off the bar stool and swaying dangerously.  “I don’t know what the hell you want,” he slurred, “but I’m not interested in hearing anything you’ve gotta say.”

The girl simply stared at him.  There was something eerie in her gaze, and Jack found himself being steered toward a booth at the back of the pub. 

She sat opposite him, her cards resting on the sticky surface.  Jack watched her warily as she began to deal, not really wanting to look at the cards but not being able to resist.

The first card that came up was that weird one that looked like him.  Jack gave a superstitious shiver, which wasn’t like him at all.  But there was something about this girl, something otherworldly and unexplainable, and to be honest she completely creeped him out.

He sipped what was left of his drink, and tried to studiously ignore the rest of the cards.  He couldn’t help but catch sight of one: a dragon, wings spread, green against the white of a snow-capped mountain.

“You need to find him,” the girl’s soft voice cut through the alcohol fog.  “He is the last of his kind.  He will be the soul of the new Torchwood you will build.”

Jack shook his head, barking out a sarcastic laugh.  “I think you have the wrong guy, princess.  Me?  Rebuild Torchwood?  I don’t think so.”

The girl simply smirked.  “The twenty-first century is when it all changes, and you need to be ready.”

He shivered again.  Those were Alex’s last words.  He really wanted another drink.

“You need to go north, and you will find him.  Do not be afraid.”

“I can’t leave – “

“The one you’re waiting on will arrive before the turning of the decade,” she answered.  “But you must get Torchwood ready before you go.  This one will be the leader when the time comes.”

Then she flipped another card over: Jack couldn’t help but notice this one…it was the Lovers.

Instead of the traditional man and woman embracing, it was two men; they were drawn so close together it was difficult to tell which one ended and the other began.  Jack couldn’t make out faces; both figures were facing the other’s shoulder and neck.

“You need to find him,” the girl continued.  “He is important.  He is the last of his kind, and without him you will never remain free long enough to meet the one you wait for.”

He knew he couldn’t trust Yvonne Hartman.  While Jack had no idea just how comprehensive the records on him were at Torchwood One, she had to know he was somehow different from anyone else.  She could conceivably use Alex’s murder spree and suicide to bring Jack in.

Perhaps he _should_ get out of town…

“So,” he said, making up his mind now that the alcohol haze had faded, “just where do I need to go?”

The girl smiled.

*****

**_15 October 2000  
  
  
  
_ **

Jack had no idea how he’d ended up in the tiny Welsh village of Ddraig Llyn, and yet there he was.

It was truly beautiful country.  He’d traveled north, like the girl had said, but beyond that she hadn’t really been very helpful.  If Jack was honest with himself, he’d left Cardiff to get away from Torchwood, and this so-called ‘last of his kind’ was simply a reason to escape.  He really hadn’t thought that much about it, and had let his instinct lead him.

It had eventually led him to Ddraig Llyn.

It was nestled in a valley in Snowdonia, on the shores of a small lake.  Perhaps 90% of the people only spoke Welsh, which made it a problem for Jack, but there were enough bilingual people in the village that he could always find someone to help him out if needed.  It had taken a week for most of the villagers to accept his presence, and Jack figured that had more to do with a certain innkeeper named Ianto Jones than to Jack’s natural charm.

_Ianto Jones_.  The man was even sexier than the name.  After the second day, he’d realized that charming the Welshman wasn’t going to get him anywhere, so he decided to flirt instead, and see where it got him.  Ianto flirted back just fine, but there was something holding the younger man back…and Jack couldn’t figure out what it was.  He could tell that Ianto was interested, but he simply wouldn’t make a move.  It was a mystery…one that was keeping Jack in Ddraig Llyn in the first place. 

That, and the fact that they were so isolated that he seriously doubted Torchwood would even think to look there.

Jack had taken up trail walking.  It wasn’t as exciting as chasing after Weevils, but it kept him active while he tried to figure out a certain innkeeper.  Plus, the mountains were simply breathtaking, and while Jack would never exactly be a back-to-nature sort of guy, even he could appreciate the peace and quiet of his surroundings.

He climbed the trail up the mountain, its name something he couldn’t pronounce and didn’t even try.  He’d had enough problems with Ddraig Llyn, and it made him feel a bit guilty for not at least trying to learn Welsh in the entire time he’d been living in Wales.  It was something he got teased about, but it was a good natured teasing, as the townsfolk gradually accepted him into their midst. 

The wind cut through his coat, but Jack didn’t mind.  It was bracing, and he took a deep breath, as if to scour out his lungs.  It was getting dark, the sun setting behind the mountains, the low light casting long shadows along the trail Jack was currently on.  He’d need to be heading back; if it was cold now, it would get bitter when the sun finally went down. 

He was just turning when a low growl sounded just beyond the rise he was on.

That old familiar adrenaline rush surged through Jack’s veins as he unconsciously moved toward the source of the sound.  As he neared the rise, the noise turned into something else.

It was singing.

The voice was deep, and had an underlying growl to it.  The words were in Welsh, and despite what should have been a heavy tone, it was lilting and soft…and very sad.

Jack almost turned around and left whoever it was to their music.  But his curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped forward enough where he could make out the singer. 

He’d thought it was one of the villagers, coming up on the mountain trail for privacy.

He was wrong.

The creature sat on an outcrop, curled up almost like a cat with its four legs tucked underneath a muscled body.  A large head on a long neck stared out over the valley, jaws with sharp teeth moving as the beast sang.  Bat-like wings curled up on the hunched back, and the sunlight glittered on green scales, making it look as if it was covered in emeralds.

It was a dragon.

Jack stared; he couldn’t help it.  He was seeing a creature out of legend, something that shouldn’t exist.  He was struck at just how beautiful it was, and how much it just _belonged_ there…

It crossed his mind that, if he was still in Torchwood and they’d known about this dragon, then chances were he’d have been sent to capture it…or even kill it.  It was the Torchwood way: anything strange or unusual or alien was instantly theirs to do with what they wanted.  In that moment Jack realized just how _evil_ Torchwood was. 

And so, he made himself comfortable, there on the mountainside, and listened to a dragon as it sang across the valley. 

He could feel the emotion in the song, and it broke his heart.  He’d always known that he was alone, but this…this was the ultimate loneliness.   When the song finally ended, Jack actually had tears in his eyes, and the almost undeniable urge to go up and put his arms around the dragon. 

Instead, he sat and stared. 

“I know you’re there.”

Jack almost jumped out of his skin at the low, rumbling comment, and he didn’t know if it was because the dragon was aware of him…or if it was because it spoke English.

A pair of blue eyes, slitted like a cat’s, was regarding him closely.  They almost looked…amused. 

“Sorry,” Jack found himself apologizing.  “I was on the trail and I heard your song – “

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the dragon answered.  “I usually come up here as the sun sets.”  Was that a smile?  “You can come closer...I won’t eat you.”

 The captain wasn’t actually afraid of that…although if he’d come back after being eaten was anyone’s guess.  He made his way toward the seated creature, leaning against the stone near the dragon’s front claws.  “Captain Jack Harkness,” he introduced himself, adding a bit of a flirtatious edge to the greeting.  “And you are?”

“You’re taking my presence quite well, considering that I’m certain you’ve never seen a dragon before.”




“How can you be so sure I’ve never seen a dragon?” Jack challenged lightly, even though he really hadn’t.

“I am the last of my kind,” the humor was gone, replaced by the sadness that had infused its song.  “And I have been for at least a thousand years.”

The words sent a chill through Jack.  _He is the last of his kind.  He will be the soul of the new Torchwood you will build._ The girl’s prophecy rang in his mind.  Could she have meant this dragon?  How was that possible? 

How could a dragon be the soul of Torchwood?

Yvonne Hartman would eat it alive…

“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly. 

“Do not be.  All things pass…in time.  And as long as there is one of us, my people will be remembered.”

“How long?  Will you live, I mean.”

The dragon sighed.  “I am as close to being immortal as I can be.  Certainly, there are ways you could kill me…and no, I don’t intend to tell you how.”  The last part held a bit of the beast’s previous humor.  “So…what brings you to Ddraig Llyn?  It certainly couldn’t have been for the wildlife…”

Jack grinned.  He found himself quite liking the dragon.  “A bit of an escape, I suppose.”  He couldn’t tell it about Torchwood, and about aliens.  He doubted it would understand.  “Wait…are you a boy dragon, or a girl dragon?”

A rumbling sound came from deep within its chest.  “I get the feeling it really wouldn’t matter to you, Captain, since you have apparently flirted with me already.”

“You’re right, but I’d kinda like to get the pronoun right in my head, as it were.”

“Would you like me to lift my tail?”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh.  “Only if you want to, but would you still respect me in the morning?”

The dragon joined in with the laughter.  “I am a male of my kind,” he finally answered as his laughter died.  “Thank you, Captain.  I have not laughed like that in a very long time.”

“My pleasure.  Would you object if I came up here to visit while I’m in the area?”  Jack found himself hoping the dragon would agree.

The long snout turned, and blue eyes regarded him.  “For some reason, I find that I trust you.  I know we have just met, but my heart tells me I can.”

“Do you trust your heart?”

“Always, Captain.  Always.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_20 October 2000  
  
_ **

“What?”  Jack’s head snapped up so quickly he felt like he’d given himself whiplash.

Ianto Jones stood beside him, a coffee pot in hand.  The innkeeper’s blue eyes were concerned.  “I only asked three times if you wanted coffee, Captain.”

“Oh.  Sorry, I’m just distracted.”  Jack eyed the young man up and down, appreciating the not-too-tight jeans and wine red jumper he wore.  “You know, red is definitely your color.”

Ianto smirked. “And I really love your coat.”

Jack handed him his empty coffee cup, which Ianto promptly filled.  He held the hot liquid under his nose, breathing deeply.  “Mr. Jones, your coffee is pure ambrosia.  You are a Coffee God among men.”  He took a careful sip, savoring the bitter liquid.  He moaned in pure pleasure as the flavor exploded against his taste buds.

“I have often thought about starting a Cult of Coffee,” the young man replied.

“You should,” Jack said fervently. “I’d join willingly.  I’d even become your personal sex slave.”

Jack was a bit disappointed by the innkeeper’s apparent lack of interest.

“No need for that,” Ianto rebutted, “although your unconditional worship would be lovely.” 

Even his smirk did things to Jack’s libido…

“What can I get you for breakfast, Captain?” he asked, changing the subject.  “Your usual?”

Jack quirked an eyebrow.  “I’ve been here long enough to have a usual?”

“You have.  Keep this up and we’ll have you speaking Welsh in no time.”

He shook his head. “I’ll leave that to the natural speakers, thanks.  You’ll actually do it justice.”

Ianto shook his head. “Your usual then, Captain?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The innkeeper withdrew, and Jack took the opportunity to watch him walk in those jeans –

“Eyes off my arse, please,” came the snarky reply.  Ianto glanced back over his shoulder, and winked as he walked through the door leading to the inn’s kitchens.

The Green Dragon Inn – and didn’t Jack find _that_ name very interesting – was a three story structure set in the middle of the main street of Ddraig Llyn.  The first story was the rooms that Ianto rented out to the occasional visitor to the village; the ground floor was the restaurant; while the pub made its home in what would have been called the cellar in any other building.  Jack had been charmed by the history of the inn, as well as the rest of the village, and had felt at home there almost from the very beginning.  It had taken a little while longer for the villagers to warm to him, since they didn’t get a lot of travelers, especially ones with the tendency to stay longer than a couple of days. 

Jack was alone in the dining room, that morning.  According to what he’d seen since he’d practically moved in three weeks previously, Ianto did most of his business in the pub, and during dinner times the restaurant itself was often busy.  Ianto kept the place himself, with only a barman downstairs and a cook in the kitchens; Ianto was pretty much chief bottle-washer and cleaner…and the day he’d seen the young man hoovering was the day that Jack realized he’d had a previously unknown vacuum fetish.

He sipped his coffee, thinking about the mysterious innkeeper.  He wondered if Ianto was at all familiar with Jack’s friend on the mountain.  Certainly in such a small place, the presence of a dragon wouldn’t be that big a secret?

He really wanted to talk to the younger man about it, but Jack didn’t dare.  The dragon had trusted him, and Jack was seriously beginning to like the creature.  Every afternoon since they’d met, Jack had found himself up on the mountain, talking to the dragon about the outside world while the dragon would share tales of the past.  He was quite pleasant company, and Jack found himself looking forward to their conversations. 

He must have been totally lost in thought, because the next thing he knew a plate was being set in front of him, piled high with eggs, sausages, and enough toast to feed most of the water fowl out on the lake.  He glanced up, and saw Ianto smiling down at him.  “You really are distracted,” the young man commented.  “The only time you’ve flirted with me in the last couple of days was when I had to remind you of my presence.”

“Sorry.”  Jack straightened in his chair, reaching for his fork.  “I really have been; yes.  Although, you never really gave me any indication that any attentions from me were particularly welcome.”

Ianto smirked.  “Haven’t you heard of playing hard to get?”

Jack’s mouth dropped open slightly as the Welshman practically flounced out of the room.  Then he chuckled, rolling his eyes as he tucked into breakfast.

*****

  **_  
_**

“Do the villagers know you’re up here?”

Jack sat against the rock, his back to the dragon.  The large head hovered over his own, and every once in a while it would crane around just enough so those cat-like eyes could look at the immortal.

Like it was doing now.

“I’ve been here for a very long time, Jack,” the deep voice answered.  “I should be surprised if they didn’t.”

He sighed, hot breath steaming the air.  “There was a time when I was worshipped.  The villagers would bring offerings at the Equinoxes and Solstices…not that I encouraged it.  What was I going to do with most of the items they brought?  However, it made them happy…and so I let them.”

“Must be tough, being worshipped.”

“Actually, it was.  It went against my very nature.”

The longer he spent in the dragon’s company, the more he thought the girl might have really meant him when she’d sent Jack north.

“I think I was sent here to find you,” he admitted.

The dragon above him got very still.  He didn’t say anything, and just as Jack was going to say something to break the silence, the creature spoke.  “Someone knows about me?”  His voice was a shadow of its normal booming.

“There’s this girl…well, I ‘m not so sure she’s really a girl…” he explained about the card reading he’d gotten in Cardiff, before he’d begun traveling.  “And she actually said that you were the last of your kind, and you echoed that the first night I met you.  I have to say, I was a bit shocked by it.”

“And there was a card with a dragon on it?” His voice had gone quiet, and almost emotionless.

“She did.  I didn’t really pay attention at the time, but yeah.  She also said you would be the soul of the new Torchwood…”

“What is Torchwood?”

Now, that was a thorny question.  Just how was Jack going to explain aliens to a dragon?  Especially one that pretty much admitted that he’d been holed up in this valley for millennia? 

The thing was, Jack felt a closeness to this creature that he hadn’t really felt for a lot of humans.  He was alone; he was immortal…just like Jack himself was.  Well, to be honest Jack didn’t know if he was truly immortal, or if his inability to die would some day wear out.  But, for now Jack had to assume that he was, indeed, going to live for a very long time.  And here was someone who knew exactly how it felt.

So Jack told the dragon the horror story that was Torchwood.  He started back with Queen Victoria, and finished with Alex’s murder of his team and his subsequent suicide.  The dragon was silent, absorbing it all, his breath ghosting the chill air as the sun sank behind the mountains, and the stars came out in all their glory.

The dragon didn’t say anything for a very long time.  Jack sat in his shadow, wanting to reach back and grasp that long neck, and offer some sort of support as all that new knowledge was assimilated by his new friend.  The only thing Jack didn’t speak of was his own long life; he’d do that later, once the dragon was ready for it all.

“These people…you worked for them?”

Jack was a bit surprised when the dragon finally broke his silence.  “I did,” he confessed.  “I didn’t like what they did, and tried to make some of it better, but I didn’t have much of a choice but to go along with what they wanted.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised by the human race’s need to destroy,” the dragon rumbled.  “But they’re responsible for the destruction of dragonkind.”

Jack almost felt like he should apologize on behalf of humanity, even though he hadn’t done anything to the dragon’s people. 

“And this mysterious girl,” the dragon went on.  “She says that you will remake this Torchwood?”

“That’s what she claimed.  Honestly, I don’t know why she thinks I can…”

“You are inherently a good man, Jack.”

Jack didn’t want to argue with his new friend, so he didn’t deny it. 

“I don’t know where I would fit into this,” the dragon said.  “It’s not as if I have any experience with aliens.”

“And I don’t know how she thinks I can get away with walking into Torchwood Three and taking over from Yvonne Hartman’s goons.” Jack chuckled.  “I suppose that makes us equal in the ‘confused as hell’ department.”

The dragon was silent.  Jack tilted his head up, to catch a glimpse of the stars overhead.  Up there, away from the lights of the city, there were so many of them it was as if he could reach up and touch them.  It made him feel homesick; being stranded on Earth for as long as he had, stuck to one time and one place, just felt wrong to him.  He’d been born among the stars; and, someday, he wanted to return to them.

The thing was, Jack didn’t think he could take this magnificent creature and expose him to all the darkness that was Torchwood.  Nor did Jack have enough confidence in himself to believe he could actually change that darkness into something better.

He stifled a sigh.  He would just have to see how things played out.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**_22 October 2000_ **

 

“It’s only rain.”

The soft voice roused Jack from his perusal of the downpour out of the restaurant window.  He glanced up, catching Ianto’s reflection in the glass.  “It’s been raining for two days.”

“Look…it’s none of my business,” the innkeeper said delicately, “but something is obviously bothering you.  Perhaps if you talk to someone about it…”

Jack stifled a sigh.  “I’m just not used to being cooped up for days,” he answered, the half-lie leaving his lips easily.  Certainly, he was a man of action, but he also found himself missing his nightly chats with the dragon.  It made him realize that he’d come to rely on those talks, and it surprised him; he hadn’t become that reliant on anyone, not since the Doctor. 

“I’m sorry,” Ianto answered, his eyes meeting Jack’s in their paired reflections, “but the mountain trails will be completely washed out.  The rain will let up tomorrow, and then perhaps the day after you can take your walks again.”

The older man turned, favoring Ianto with a slight smirk. “And how do you know the rain will end tomorrow?  Do you have some sort of weather sense or something?”

Ianto grinned.  “Or something.  Huw, down at the greengrocers’, has a knee that very reliably tells the weather.  That particular joint has never been wrong.”

“Then I shall bow to the superior wisdom of Huw’s knee.”

The innkeeper chuckled.  “Smart man.”  Then he grew serious again.  “I don’t think that’s the only thing, Captain, and my instincts are pretty good.”

The man was sharp.  Jack tried to play it down.  “And do you always trust your instincts?” he asked, half playfully.

Always, Captain.  Always.”

A small shiver went down his spine, but Jack couldn’t say why.  There was just something about Ianto Jones that he trusted…and he couldn’t say what that was.  It was the same feeling he had around the dragon, and Jack thought vaguely that it had something to do with being Welsh. 

“Do you have any family, Ianto?” he asked, changing the subject while trying to hide just how close the younger man had come to getting him to spill.

“Nope,” he answered.  “I’m the last of my kind, as they say.”

Another frisson passed down Jack’s spine.  “What?”

A look passed through Ianto’s blue eyes, then was gone before Jack could identify it.  “That’s what some of the villagers say.  I’m the last of the Joneses in Ddraig Llyn.  My parents and my sister are all gone, so I’m the last of the family line.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”

Ianto shrugged.  “It was a long time ago.  And don’t think I didn’t notice the subject change.”  He rested his hand on Jack’s arm, and the man pretended that the warmth through his shirt sleeve wasn’t pleasant.  “Come on.  I’ll make us some coffee.  If you want to talk, you can.”

Jack followed him into the kitchen, where Ianto began working with the coffee machine in the corner.  Agnes, the cook, was nowhere to be seen, and he guessed she was home at this time of the day. 

“As I was saying,” Ianto began, his hands working the coffee machine gracefully, “my family has passed.  We’d gone on a trip to visit relatives and, on the way back, we were waylaid by…” he sighed.  “Well, let’s just say they weren’t very nice men.  They murdered my family for their wealth, and I was left for dead.  I was…quite young at the time.”

Ianto told the story dispassionately, as if the events had happened to someone else, but Jack could tell by the sudden trembling in the younger man’s hands that he was still quite affected by the loss of his family. “Did they catch the men who’d done it?”

“No.” Ianto set a steaming mug of coffee on the counter next to Jack’s elbow.  “Pardon me for saying so, but I think you’ve had more than your fair share of loss.”

Jack had been about to take a sip of his coffee, and was pitifully glad he hadn’t, because he certainly would have choked on it.  “What do you mean?” he asked quietly, continuing the movement of mug to lips in order to cover his surprise.

Ianto took a sip of his own coffee.  “It’s just…you get this look in your eyes sometimes.  Almost like you’re seeing ghosts.”

Jack snorted to cover his discomfiture.  “There’s no such things as ghosts.”

That earned him an eye roll and a look that said ‘if you say so’.  He turned away so his back was resting against the counter, the mug to his lips as he sipped his coffee.

The silence between them wasn’t all that uncomfortable.  Jack was surprised; usually silences like this became unbearable for him.  Most people he’d known over the century or so had seen the loud and brash Captain; they didn’t know that Jack was as fond of silence as he was of noise, but that all too often the quiet wasn’t a peaceful one.  His thoughts and doubts would come to the fore, and he’d need the loudness of his nature to drown them out.

But with Ianto…Jack felt a strange peace.  It was like the peace that he’d felt in the dragon’s company, and he couldn’t pinpoint the reason for it.  Perhaps it was the very Welshness of the two of them; or perhaps it was something beyond that, something inherent in both the human and the creature.  They did share many of the same characteristics: both were intelligent and witty, and had an easy dignity about them that was somehow old-fashioned. 

There were differences, though.  Ianto wasn’t as melancholy as the dragon; he wasn’t weighed down by all the years  that the dragon had lived through.  He was a bit more intense as well, and not quite as free with the laughter as the dragon was, but the little smirks and asides were more than enough to bring across his amusement.  He didn’t need the large gestures; but then, the dragon didn’t have quite the facial mobility that Ianto did.

Jack sighed as he compared the two in his mind…coming to the conclusion that, despite some obvious differences Ianto Jones and the dragon were, in fact, more alike than different. 

He finished his coffee, and before he could even open his mouth to request another Ianto had the pot, ready to pour.  Jack nodded his thanks, drinking about half before beginning to speak.

“It was my boss,” he said.  “He killed all my co-workers and then himself.”  Jack didn’t add that he’d seen Alex do it, and there were times when he could still feel the warm blood splatter on his face from the shot. 

Ianto went completely still, his face pale with horror.  “And you?” he asked quietly.

“I was out at the time.  I…found them.”

A warm hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked away, not wanting to see the sympathy on Ianto’s face.   “And this is why you’re running,” the innkeeper murmured.

Jack’s head whipped around, surprised by the assumption.  “Why do you think I’m running?” he demanded, shrugging off the comforting hand. 

Ianto snorted.  “Because you’ve stayed in Ddraig Llyn for nearly a month.  A man like you…someone so obviously used to being the center of attention, to being the man of action…for you to stay here that long, you had to have been running away from something.”

He didn’t want to admit that Ianto was right.  That Jack was, indeed, running…but not for the reasons the man believed.  And yet, for Ianto to have assumed that just by Jack’s demeanor, from just observing Jack…he had to admit, he was impressed by it.  He’d thought he’d managed to suppress much of that energy, or to walk it off during his treks along the mountain trails. 

Jack took another look at Ianto Jones.  Outwardly, the man was handsome…no, if Jack was being honest he’d have to say that Ianto was basically sex on legs.  Anyone seeing him and judging him just on appearances would most likely think him a bit shallow, simply because of his looks.  But that wasn’t at all true; there were depths to Ianto, hidden depths of intelligence and instinct and strength, and also Jack suspected loyalty and  courage as well. 

It was then that Jack wondered if he hadn’t been sent to find Ianto, instead of the dragon.

The young man certainly had a head on his shoulders and a strong work ethic.  He ran the inn practically on his own, which meant he had organizational skills.  Anyone who could keep a business like this afloat would have no trouble at all running Torchwood.  He was independent and able to be a good boss to his employees.  He could keep the inn’s books; Torchwood had the same need for such skills.  Ianto was also good with people, as evidenced in his interactions with the villagers.  Jack didn’t see any problem with him liaising with any of the organizations Torchwood dealt with on a daily basis. 

That was when Jack remembered the other card that the girl had shown him: the Lovers.  Two men, wrapped around each other, in as intimate an embrace as Jack had ever seen.  Could the other man on that card have been Ianto? 

It was no secret that the older man found him attractive, and would have loved to have gotten him into bed.  But Ianto – despite his comments about playing hard to get – had rebuffed Jack at every turn.  And suddenly Jack was shaken, because the term ‘lover’ intimated something more than just having sex with someone.   That there was an element of emotion in the act, and a sense of permanence in accepting that someone was a lover, instead of a shag.

Not if he was going to leave when the Doctor arrived.




“Jack?”

The older man focused on Ianto; the young man’s eyes were darker than usual, and he was looking at Jack with an intensity that hadn’t been there before.  There was such age, and such intelligence…as if Ianto was looking into Jack’s very soul. 

"You’ll only end up suffocating yourself if you stay here.”




Jack  snorted. “You don’t know me at all if you don’t think I’m a coward.”

"You just have to convince yourself of that.”




Jack simply stared into Ianto’s eyes, now steely with determination.  He didn’t feel himself move, and before he could even register it his lips were against Ianto’s, a gentle, chaste kiss that still managed to send shockwaves through Jack’s nerve endings.

Ianto stiffened for a second, and then returned the kiss.  He pulled away before it could become more, however.  “Jack, I – “

“I know,” Jack answered, resting his forehead against Ianto’s.  And he did, because Ianto could become easily so much more than just a friend.

He could become the soul of the new Torchwood.

And, if Jack wasn’t careful, his own as well.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**_24 October 2000_ **

 

Jack made his way up the treacherous mountain trail, heading toward the outcrop where he’d been meeting the dragon.  The trail was nothing more than mud and slick stone, and Jack had to pick his way carefully upward.  Maybe he should have taken Ianto’s advice and waited another day, but the need to speak to the dragon had grown after his discussion with Ianto over coffee a couple of nights ago.  It had given him plenty to think about…least of which was that he was going back to Cardiff, and without the dragon or the innkeeper.

He knew that wasn’t what the Tarot girl had intended.  Jack was also well aware of what she’d said, that returning without the so-called last of his kind would mean he wouldn’t be around when the Doctor finally showed up.  But, having met the two of them, Jack simply couldn’t put them into danger like that.

The dragon…well, his going to Cardiff was problematical at best.  There would be no ideal place for him to hide; there were areas in the Hub that were quite cave-like, but it would be getting that large body down into them that would be the main issue.  And then there was getting him back out…because Jack doubted he’d want to stay trapped underground forever.  Having him out and about would just draw attention, and Jack could see him coming to Yvonne Hartman’s attention.  Once that happened…even with Jack’s somewhat dubious offer of protection, he very much doubted the dragon would remain free for long.

Then there was Ianto…and Jack leaving him behind was for more personal reasons.  After their conversation, Jack had come to realize that the innkeeper could so easily come to mean more to him than anyone else had in a long time; not since Estelle had he felt drawn to someone like he had been to Ianto.  But Jack simply couldn’t afford to get involved that deeply with anyone, not with his waiting almost over.  If Ianto was meant to lead Torchwood after Jack was gone…well, it was a moot point, because Jack could see himself giving up his quest for Ianto Jones.  He just couldn’t afford that.

And so, there he was…hiking his way up a mountain track that was more like a slippery slope than a trail, needing to talk to his friend and telling him that he was leaving.  He’d go back to Cardiff, and try to keep his head down and out of Yvonne Hartman’s crosshairs.  All he needed to do was remain out and free until he ran across a Doctor that would be compatible with Jack’s own personal timeline, and then he could leave Earth forever. 

His boot slid on a muddy patch, and Jack cursed as he fought to keep his balance.  The wind was strong, cutting through the wool of his greatcoat and threatening to push him off the trail.  He was being foolhardy in making this trip now, but he needed to tell the dragon he was leaving.  And it wasn’t like he could actually die for real…

Even as that thought crossed his mind, he hit another patch that was more water-saturated earth than stone, and his ankle twisted out from under him.  Jack barely had time to curse before he was falling.

But the fall didn’t stop.

Jack slid backward down the trail, the mud acting like grease on the wet rock.  He scrabbled to stop his descent, but there was literally nothing to grab onto.  He had no choice but to ride it out…

And then, his slide was abruptly stopped by a sharp impact. 

Jack felt rather than heard his neck snap, and before he lost consciousness he realized he must have hit a boulder on the way down…

He heard a voice shouting his name as his vision first whited out, then went black.

*****

Jack came back to life with his usual gasping and thrashing.  He fully expected to find himself on the mountain, at the base of whatever rock had stopped his fall so permanently. 

Instead, as he regained his equilibrium he found himself in a large cavern.  A fire was the only illumination, crackling merrily away in a fire pit in the middle of the space.  The walls were hung with tapestries that looked incredibly old, and there were also several shelves of books and other papers and knick knacks. There was a single chair near one of the shelves, with what looked like a hurricane lamp sitting unlit on a dark wood table beside it. 

Jack himself was lying among a very large – and comfortable – pile of pillows, covered by a thick duvet that looked as if it had been handmade…and also looked very old.  He lifted the warm covering…yes, as he’d thought, he was naked.  Normally, he didn’t mind waking up in what was obviously someone’s bed without clothes on, but this time Jack had no idea where he was, and whoever had brought him there had thought he was dead.  If he got up and walked out now…

There was nothing for it.  He needed to find his clothes and find his way out of this cave.  It looked as if leaving Ddraig Llyn was more of a need than he’d previously thought.  Although he couldn’t think who would be living in a place like this; he would have assumed the dragon, but the very human-sized chair dismissed that idea. 

He got up, wrapping the duvet around him in order to ward off the chill.  Jack looked around for his clothing, but the only thing he could find was his greatcoat, hanging up on a coat rack not far from the pile of pillows he’d been laying on. It was caked in mud, and soaked through.

It was also hanging up next to another coat, one that he thought looked familiar.

And then, he heard the singing.

It echoed throughout the cavern; a Welsh voice, sad and full of loss.  Jack looked around, but could see no one present.  The song was familiar, haunting…and suddenly it hit him.  It was the same song he’d heard the dragon singing, at their first meeting.

He turned, trying to find the source of the song.  He was alone; and yet that song was clearly audible, and Jack was determined to find the singer.  He was convinced it was the dragon, but the furnishings in the cavern confused him. 

It took him a few moments to find the passageway leading off the cavern.  The song seemed to emanate from there, and so Jack headed down it, the stone cold against his bare feet.  The tunnel sloped downward, and was a little taller than he was, and perhaps six feet wide.  It was hardly dragon-sized, but at the same time Jack was beginning to realize that there was more in this place that met the eye. 

There was light in front of him, and Jack made for that.  This light was a different tone from the firelight of the chamber he’s just left; more golden, and far colder.  Jack shivered in that cold, but kept going despite the voice in the back of his head that told him he should get the hell out of there.  He told that voice to shut up, because he wasn’t going to freeze his bollocks off on the mountain, which he would most certainly do if he went out without his clothes.

The passage opened up into another cavern.  This one was smaller than the one he’d awakened in, and it was also furnished with shelves and tables.  Torches lined the walls, throwing their light onto the objects on those furnishings.

It was those objects that had Jack’s jaw dropping from surprise.

Every one of them was made of gold.

Back in his conman days he would have grabbed and run, but those days were far behind him, and now he simply appreciated the beauty of what he saw.




As he continued forward, Jack could see other objects, all arranged in groups and by type and size. It was all very neat and tidy, and everything looked freshly polished.  But as much as he was distracted by what he was seeing, Jack still moved forward, towards the source of the song.

He found it.

A man stood with his back to Jack, looking over items of clothing hanging from a rack.  From Jack’s point of view, the robes and tunics all looked rich and antique, most with threads of gold and silver woven into them, as well as jewels and brocade.  This was the person singing, and as Jack approached he realized he recognized that voice and that form.

Ianto Jones.

Jack took a step back, as confusion overwhelmed him.  What has Ianto doing there?  Had he been the one to find Jack, and to bring him to this place, to undress him and to lay him out like that? 

And why was he singing the dragon’s song?

Suddenly the song stopped.  Ianto stiffened, his hand clenching the fabric of one of the tunics.  His head moved, as if he wanted to look over his shoulder but was afraid to.  “Are you a ghost, come to haunt me?” he whispered, the words barely carrying to where Jack was standing.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Jack answered, just as softly.

“You were dead.”

“I was.  But I don’t stay that way.” 

“I…see.”

Jack knew this had to have shocked the young man, but he was getting a bit tired of talking to Ianto’s back.  “Would you turn around?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid that whatever magic that brought you back will fade if I look at you.”

Jack snorted.  “I don’t believe in magic, either.  Well, not in the way you obviously mean.”

That got Ianto’s attention, and he turned to look at Jack.  The pain in his blue eyes was palpable.  “You don’t believe in magic?  Then how do you explain your…resurrection?”

“I can’t.  All I know is I died…and then woke up.  I’ve been like this ever since.” 

“But I can sense it!” Ianto exclaimed.  “I’ve been able to sense it around you from the moment you came into my inn!  But…when you fell down the mountain I couldn’t sense it anymore…”

“I can’t explain what makes me this way,” Jack said.  “Any more than I can explain your presence in this Aladdin’s cave.”  He waved his hand to indicate the riches around them.

Ianto actually blushed.  “I…this is my hoard.  I did tell you, the people of the valley used to worship me.”

“No, the dragon told me that – “ Jack stopped, as the similarities he’d seen in both dragon and innkeeper came rushing back, and he felt like a complete idiot for not even considering what he was thinking now. 

Ianto must have seen the realization in Jack’s eyes, because he nodded.  “Yes Jack…I’m as magical as you are.  I’m the dragon.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**_24 October 2000_ **

  
  
Jack stared.  He could kick himself for not thinking ‘shape-changer’.  But really, what little he knew about dragons didn’t say anything about them being able to take on human form, so it had been a conclusion that had never even crossed his mind.

Ianto had turned back to the rack, pulling off something.  “Here,” he said, passing it over.  “I was…trying to find something to dress you in.  Your clothes were ruined, and when I took you back to the village I wanted you to keep what little dignity death left behind.”  He brushed past Jack.  “Come back to the living area when you’re done.”

If Jack was right, the clothes were exactly the same shade as his now-filthy greatcoat.




He quickly dressed, wishing that Ianto had left him at least some socks to wear.  The cave floor was freezing under his feet, but the rest of him was warm under the heavy velvet.  The ensemble was distinctly old; if he had to guess, he would have said 10th Century.   He took a look at the other garments hanging from the rack; all of them were as old, if not older, than what Jack was wearing.  He had to wonder if Ianto had worn any of them, since the tunic was a bit tight around the shoulders and chest, while the trousers seemed to fit a bit better.  

He made his way out of the hoard chamber, and up into the living area.  Ianto was waiting for him; as if having read his mind, he handed Jack a pair of thick wool socks, and the older man was more than happy to put them on right away.  A familiar scent met his nostrils, and he grinned.  “Is that coffee?”

Ianto nodded.  “There’s no electricity up here, but I’ve mastered making coffee over a fire.  It won’t be quite as good…”

He’d folded the duvet then carefully set it back on the pile of pillows.  Jack realized, just by looking around, that his host was some sort of hedonist; the pillows, the furnishings, the clothes, everything spoke of a person who enjoyed the finer things in life.  He supposed that, after living as long as the dragon had, that only made sense. 

Jack was still surprised at the turn of events.  Ianto Jones…was the dragon that Jack considered a friend.  “Why didn’t you tell me you and the dragon were the same person?”

Ianto had reached into the fire, pulling a metal pot from within using his bare hand.  Jack had to fight the urge to run over and check the young man for burns.  Apparently being a dragon meant he was somewhat impervious to heat. 

He motioned Jack to the only chair, handing the older man a steaming mug of coffee.  “Quite possibly for the same reason you didn’t tell me that you come back after death,” he answered, perching on the edge of the fire pit.

Jack chuckled.  “Yeah, it is a bit out there.”

Ianto arched an eyebrow at him.  “A bit?  Jack, in my experience the dead don’t come back to life.  Admittedly, I haven’t been out of this valley much in the last five hundred years…”  He shrugged.  “In the circumstances, I think you can forgive me for thinking you were some kind of ghost.”

Jack barked a laugh.  “Well, in _my_ experience dragons are mythological creatures.”  He took a sip of the coffee; Ianto was right, it wasn’t quite on par with the coffee he’d had at the inn, but it warmed going down.  “And there was nothing in what stories I have heard that said you could change your shape.”

“Touché,” Ianto answered, dipping his head.  “Although it gave me the unique opportunity to hear about you from two different directions, as it were.  It’s made me realize what a complicated person you are, and I think it’s given me a respect of your circumstances that I might not normally have had.”

As Ianto spoke, Jack could hear a combination of the Welshman who’d flirted with him and the dragon who’d befriended him.  The more he was in Ianto’s company, the more he was surprised that he hadn’t picked up on it before.  Yes, he’d known there were similarities, but he’d chalked it up to both of them being inherently Welsh. 

Then he caught himself; after living in Wales for so long, Jack seemed to be stereotyping.  So much for his enlightened 51st Century upbringing.

“It seems to me,” Ianto went on, “that you have an important decision to make…to either go along with this prophecy you’ve been given, or to say hell with it and go back to Cardiff empty-handed.”

“Or I can run away,” Jack added, just to see Ianto’s reaction.

He got one; the man rolled his eyes.  “I told you…you aren’t a coward.  You might have talked yourself into believing you’re one, but you really aren’t.”

“I think you might be wrong about me.”

“And I think you might be wrong about yourself.”

Well, that was Jack told.

“Do you also want to know what I think?”

“I think you’re going to tell me.”

“I think that the reason you were so intent on coming up here was to tell me that you were leaving.  And that you’d decided you weren’t going to ask me along.”

All right, so he was perceptive.  Jack couldn’t deny it, and said so.

“And it never occurred to that I might have decided to accompany you?”

“You couldn’t tell me that before I walked up a wet mountain and killed myself?”

Ianto cringed.  “I couldn’t.  You hadn’t told _me_ about it yet, you only told the dragon.”

He did have a point. 

“I was thinking about what you said,” Ianto went on, “about how bad Torchwood is and how that strange girl of yours was so certain you’d remake it.  I honestly have never given any thought to aliens outside of science fiction novels I’ve read, but it does make sense that there’s more out there than us. And, if they’re anything like humans, then there’s bad and good.”

Jack nodded, but didn’t speak.  He thought about his Doctor, and all that particular alien had done for the planet…and the universe.

A look of wonder crossed the other man’s face.  “Whole other worlds to explore…but, be that as it may, it’s worthwhile to try to protect our planet.  I’d say you should be proud of the work you do, but I know you aren’t.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Jack denied.  “I’m proud of the work…just not the way the Powers that Be want it done.”

He inclined his head at the correction.  “While I don’t know why your mysterious girl would think I would be useful to you, I’m not one to argue against prophecy.  Besides, who doesn’t want to be a part of something bigger than themselves?”

Jack thought he was being a bit naïve and idealistic, but didn’t say so. 

“And if I’m completely truthful,” Ianto went on, “I’ve been away from the world for a very long time.  This could be my chance to get back into things again.”

This wasn’t the way Jack had wanted this conversation to go.  He’d meant to come to say goodbye, not to have an eager volunteer.  And yet, at the same time, there was something about Ianto Jones – and not the fact that he was a creature out of legend – that encouraged Jack that he could, indeed, change Torchwood for the better.  That, if he only had Ianto with him, he might be about to make Torchwood into something that even the Doctor might approve of. 

And really, when it came down to it, the only thing that really mattered to Jack was the Time Lord’s good opinion.

His major problem was, was the way he felt about Ianto.  Jack knew himself, and he was well aware that the man could very well become very important to him.  Having him around all the time was like putting temptation in his way, although it helped that Ianto had so far not should much interest, despite his claiming that he was playing hard to get.

But then, he hadn’t actually pulled away in the kitchen…

He recalled the card – the Lovers.  There had been two men on that card.  Could that have meant himself and Ianto?  Jack didn’t lie to himself: he was attracted to Ianto, very much so.  If they were meant to become lovers…would he be able to leave once the Doctor did return?

Or maybe he was just over-thinking the entire situation.

Ianto was watching him, his blue eyes glittering in the firelight.  There were so many things he wanted to know about the dragon and his human persona.  He wanted to ask about just how Ianto could sense him, and what he’d meant about magic bringing Jack back.  Of course, Jack didn’t believe in magic; but he did believe firmly in Clarke’s Law.  He was certain that some sort of science was beyond his constant resurrections, and nothing as vague as magic. And Jack was also certain that magic wasn’t behind Ianto’s shape-changing, that he simply thought that way because of how he had lived. 

He supposed it didn’t really matter.  Only the Doctor could explain what had happened to Jack, and not some hocus-pocus.  He realized he was denigrating Ianto’s nature by dismissing him like that, but Jack had seen enough to recognize superstition when he saw it.  Perhaps he’d be doing Ianto a favor by getting him out of this valley and out into the real world. 

“You’re determined then?” Jack finally asked.  “You’re going to put yourself right in the line of fire, so to speak.  And if Torchwood London finds out about you…”

“I believe I have a good idea of what might happen.  But more importantly, I believe you can do this.  I have faith in you.”  The emotions burned in Ianto’s blue eyes, and for a second Jack thought he could see the slitted pupils of the dragon as well.

A warmth spread through Jack’s chest at such confidence in him.  The only other person who’d thought like that about him had been Rose.    
  
Maybe there was another person whose good opinion he wanted.

He only hoped he could live up to that.

*****

**_31 October 2000_ **

A chill wind cut across the Plass, battling with the warmth of the sun for dominance over Cardiff.  Jack Harkness strode toward the invisible lift, his coat whipping around him and casting a glamour of invincibility about him.  The near-silent footsteps of Ianto Jones matched him step for step, the dragon in man form wearing a charcoal suit and a deep red shirt and black tie, looking all the world like a businessman taking a constitutional toward the Quay. 

He didn’t want to have to need anyone.




But, for now, he’d accept it.  He just had to keep his eye on his goal, and that was the day that the Doctor would come back.  In the meantime, he’d do the best he could, in order not to disappoint the one person who believed in him utterly. 

That would come later, and Jack already didn’t like the sick feeling that thought made him.

Together, Captain Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones, the Last of His Kind, stepped onto the paving stone that was Torchwood Three’s invisible lift, and although Jack didn’t know it at the time, they were stepping into history.

 

_Fin_


End file.
